


Once More with Feeling

by aphreal



Series: Take Two [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphreal/pseuds/aphreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexia Cousland is reliving the Blight with the memories of what happened the first time around. Changing the world is surprisingly easy. What's harder is getting back the one thing she wants to keep: Alistair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everything at Ostagar had gone according to plan. Thanks to Alexia’s input, Duncan had managed to mitigate the worst effects of Loghain’s betrayal, and both King Cailan and the majority of the Grey Wardens had survived the battle. Loghain had no cause to step in as regent, and his political influence was heavily blunted by the loss of Cailan’s implicit trust. She had no idea exactly how Duncan had persuaded the king to be wary of his chief general, but she suspect that Cailan’s hero-worship of the Grey Wardens had been instrumental. 

With a full complement of Grey Wardens receiving support from the army, Ostagar had been a decisive military victory as well. While the darkspawn horde had taken heavy losses, the Blight was by no means over. There was still an archdemon out there somewhere, and all of Alexia’s foreknowledge wouldn’t do them a bit of good if they couldn’t find it. 

Which was how Alexia had come to find herself in the unfamiliar setting of a full Grey Warden camp on the move. Duncan had organized the bulk of the uninjured Wardens from Ostagar and set off after the remnants of the darkspawn horde, hoping their trail would eventually lead the Wardens to the archdemon. 

All in all, it wasn’t a bad position to be in. The Joining had been much less stressful the second time around, and Ostagar was an entirely different experience at the side of the Warden-Commander, providing him with intelligence, rather than fighting her way through a tower over-run by darkspawn with minimal support. The Warden camp had the easy familiarity that Alexia had always seen and envied among her father’s soldiers, and this time she wasn’t excluded from the camaraderie by her rank. It would have been a thoroughly enjoyable experience except for one thing: Alistair. 

While she would never admit it outside of her own head, she’d volunteered to become a Grey Warden almost entirely to be with him, and it felt like the chance was slipping through her fingers. 

She’d gone out of her way to spend time with him, changing patrol schedules and swapping watches to make sure they were on break together. She couldn’t keep track of the number of Wardens she currently owed favors. It was worth it, because he was everything she remembered. Whatever the source of her strange memories, they were as accurate about him as they had been about everything else. His laugh was heart-breakingly familiar, and there were times it took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to kiss him when he looked at her with that half-grin. 

But she knew that would be a mistake, so she resisted, even when it hurt so much she could scarcely breathe. 

Because, while he had been friendly – sharing jokes and making sure the new recruit felt welcome – there was no especial closeness between them. Alistair treated her with the same warmth and sense of brotherhood that he extended to all of the Wardens. And if he occasionally stumbled over his words or blushed when she smiled at him, it was hard to think that it meant anything. That was how he reacted to attention from any pretty girl. 

Alexia was starting to seriously question whether the connection she remembered had only been a product of their shared tragedy and loss. Maybe that sense of grief was all that had brought them together in the first place, and now that she wasn’t an orphan and he had the rest of his order, they didn’t really need each other. 

Except that she remembered a world where he had meant everything to her. Where she had fallen asleep listening to his heartbeat every night. Where she had challenged and killed the Hero of River Dane to keep him safe. Where they had held each other through nightmares and celebrated shared triumphs. So even if she’d changed things so that he had no reason to turn to her, she couldn’t escape how desperately she needed him, and keeping it concealed was gradually driving her out of her mind. 

Which was why tonight she had traded shifts and swapped chores not for time with Alistair but for a skin of strong cider and an evening to spend alone in her tent brooding and drinking until she either forgot the past or remembered it clearly enough to eclipse the present.


	2. Chapter 2

Alistair had come to the conclusion that it was going to be a nice evening. 

The darkspawn horde had led them somewhere pleasant, for once. There weren’t any pesky insects and barely even any mud to speak of. In fact, for the first time in weeks, he was spending free time not scraping mud off his boots and greaves. He’d ended up with the rare pleasure of an entire night free from watches, patrols, or camp chores, and he was thoroughly enjoying sitting around a campfire with no immediate plans beyond relaxed conversation and periodic stargazing. 

At the moment, he was leaning back on his elbows, staring idly up at the sky – which was clear enough he could see stars in spite of the fireglow, so they probably weren’t even going to be soaked by sudden rain in the night – and letting the other Wardens’ chatter wash over him. Nights like this, rare as they were, gave him a glimpse at what it must be like to have family. 

“Anyone seen the new girl?” someone asked. 

That drew a sharp bark of laughter followed by good-natured teasing. “Be careful who you let hear you calling a teyrn’s daughter ‘the new girl’.” 

“Eh. She’s a Warden now, same as the rest of us.” 

“Maybe she’s on patrol,” someone else suggested, returning to the original question. 

“Not likely if the templar’s here.” 

Hearing himself dragged into the conversation, Alistair sat up and looked around, puzzled. “What did I have to do with it?” 

“You haven’t noticed your second shadow?” 

“Um…” He blinked slowly, looking around the circle of faces gathered at the fire, hoping someone else was looking as lost as he felt. Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have gotten a copy of whatever map the conversation was currently following. 

“She checks out the schedule and then trades patrols to be around you. You seriously haven’t noticed?” 

Alistair stared in disbelief at the number of heads nodding agreement, even as his mouth started answering without his permission. “Well, I mean, I thought she’d been around kind of a lot, but it seemed like it was probably coincidence. Who goes to the trouble of shifting patrol schedules like that?” The amused smirks being sent in his direction weren’t helping any. “Right, stupid question. Alexia does, apparently. According to all of you. But that doesn’t mean it’s about me specifically.” 

The number of poorly-concealed grins suggested he wasn’t making a terribly convincing case. He could only assume they were trying to get him so nervous around her that he made an even bigger fool of himself than usual. And it would probably work. It wasn’t his fault that he’d never learned how to talk to pretty girls without blushing and tripping over his feet. It’s not like that was a skill he’d really had a chance to practice in the templar barracks. 

Alistair sighed. A nice evening spoiled by yet another round of make-fun-of-the-new-guy. It really wasn’t fair. He wasn’t even the newest Warden recruit any more. Of course, he was generally an all-around safer target for teasing than a gorgeous noble who had the ear of the Warden-Commander. So continuing to pick on him instead was probably the smart choice, but it still didn’t seem particularly _fair_. 

Determined to enjoy this pleasant evening off from watches, mud, and rain, Alistair went back to looking at the sky and trying his best to ignore the conversation around him. 

Which was now going to be nearly impossible if they kept talking about Alexia. 

“Really, though, I’m surprised the new girl’s not here. I know she traded patrol shifts to get tonight free.” 

“I saw her heading towards her tent on my way over here. She nearly walked into me. Seemed like she was bothered about something.” 

Alistair frowned. Adjusting to life as a Warden hadn’t always been easy, and he’d come to it from an order that was even more strict and regimental. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like for someone who had grown up as a pampered child of the nobility. Granted, Alexia couldn’t have been _that_ sheltered because, Maker’s breath, the woman could fight! But this still had to be a difficult adjustment for her. 

And if there was any hint of truth in the stories about her shifting patrols and spending more time around him than typical, she must at least consider him someone she could trust. It made sense, in a way, since Duncan had dropped responsibility for her on him when she showed up at Ostagar. It didn’t really mean anything – the new guy was traditionally in charge of preparing recruits for Joining – but he could see how she might have latched onto him as a friendly face, someone reassuring in all of this chaos. If she was having a rough time right now, it would only be polite for him to go check on her. 

Alistair dragged himself to his feet and headed away from the fire towards where Alexia had set up her tent for the night, cheeks burning as he determinedly ignored the teasing comments that floated after him.


	3. Chapter 3

Alistair hesitated outside Alexia’s tent, wondering if he should be there. If she’d specifically arranged to be alone for the evening, she might not appreciate the interruption. Even if the other Wardens weren’t just messing with him and she really had been seeking him out, that didn’t give him the right to intrude. 

He almost left, but he could see her outline through the illuminated tent wall, and she looked so lonely. There was a light burning inside the tent, casting Alexia’s shadow against the canvas. She was sitting on the cot with her head lowered and her shoulders hunched forward. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her look so closed in and vulnerable, like she really needed a friend, and that decided it for him. He couldn’t see her like that and just walk away. 

Despite his familiarity with life on the road, Alistair still hadn’t found a way to effectively knock on a tent. So he settled for announcing himself by softly calling her name. 

“Alistair?” She sounded surprised, but the question in her voice was definitely more “why” than “who”. 

Taking that for an invitation because he always felt ridiculous having a conversation through a sheet of canvas, Alistair ducked in to the tent. “I came to check on you,” he explained. “People were worried. Are you okay?” 

“Not really.” Alexia gave him a wry smile. She wasn’t wearing armor, for the first time since he’d met her, and he was surprised at how much smaller and more vulnerable she looked when not encased in steel. He was also suddenly aware of the decidedly-feminine figure that she was usually hiding under plate mail, even if her current hunched posture obscured some of the details. Not that he was looking. Alistair felt his cheeks start to flush and forced his eyes back onto safer territory. 

One of Alexia’s hands was loosely holding a pewter mug, and a half-full skin flask sat at her feet. She gestured her empty hand at the other end of the cot. “Join me?” 

Alistair nodded and sat down, feeling awkward and over-large in the confined space with her. He realized that, now that he was here, he had no idea what to say to her. Usually his mouth filled uncomfortable silences with inane babbling, but even that had abandoned him at the moment. 

Alexia didn’t seem to mind the silence. As he settled in on the cot, she sipped at her mug and stared at the sloping tent wall, her gaze abstracted and distant. “It’s not what I expected,” she said at last. “A Grey Warden camp, I mean. Things are so different.” 

“From Highever?” 

“No. Well, yes. But it’s not that.” She shook her head. “I can’t really explain. You’ll think I’ve lost my mind.” 

“I might not.” Alistair smiled encouragingly when she looked up. “I’m known for being gullible. Ask anyone in the camp, and they’ll tell you that I’ll believe all sorts of things. Right after my Joining, they had me convinced that Grey Wardens could hear darkspawn tunneling underground, no matter how far down they were. I think I spent most of my first week with the side of my head covered in mud from trying to listen.” 

Her fond smile was quickly hidden as she leaned forward to grab the skin on the floor, refilling her mug with something golden and clear. She held the drink out to him in a wordless offer. 

“Thanks, but I shouldn’t. No tolerance whatsoever.” 

“I know.” There was something amused in her voice and a hint of a smirk on her lips as she held the mug out more firmly. 

Bemused, he took it from her, taking a small sip and finding the liquid both strong and sweet. The fruit almost masked the alcohol, but he could feel heat wafting up the back of his throat. It was surprisingly nice. He continued to drink slowly as Alexia gathered her thoughts, and by the time she spoke again, he could imagine that he was starting to feel a slight buzz. 

“The day before I met Duncan, I had this…” Alexia trailed off with a frustrated sigh. “Calling it a dream or vision sounds too vague. It felt _real_. As far as everything in my memory is concerned, I spent the past year as a Grey Warden, ending the Blight. The archdemon died, and I woke up back in Highever as if none of it had ever happened. But I still remember everything.” 

Alistair took another long drink to process that, staring at her over the rim of the mug to judge whether she was playing on his credulity. It was one of the most implausible stories he’d heard, but her eyes looked serious and she didn’t seem the type to joke like this. So he hedged his bets with a flippant response that didn’t openly contradict her. “It must be handy knowing what happens next.” 

Alexia chuckled, and some of the tension seemed to flow out of her. “I don’t anymore. I changed things.” She started ticking points off on her fingers as she continued. “I stopped Howe, saved my family, and convinced Duncan to keep Ostagar from turning into a massacre. So my parents are alive, Oren will have a future, and there are enough Grey Wardens to stop the Blight before it ravages half the kingdom.” Alexia gave a short sigh. “So I absolutely can’t regret it.” 

Alistair had no idea who Oren was or what she would have stopped – presumably – Arl Howe from doing. So he responded to the part that came closest to making sense. “Ostagar wasn’t such a victory your first time around?” 

He handed her empty mug back, and she refilled it as she continued. She didn’t return it to him, keeping hold of it and fidgeting at the handle as if she needed something to do with her hands. 

“Loghain betrayed the Wardens. He pulled out the infantry at the last minute and left them committed without reinforcements or support. It was a bloodbath. The only two Wardens who made it out were the ones sent to light a signal beacon that ended up being more than useless.” 

“Obviously you were one of the two. Who else?” At this point, he figured there wasn’t much harm in encouraging her to keep telling her story until she got to whatever point she was trying to make. 

“You.” She looked up from the mug and smiled at him, and suddenly he got a sense of why she would have been seeking him out. If she believed this story, then, in her mind, they’d been close comrades for a year. That explained a lot about the way she talked and reacted to him, but he found the presumed intimacy disconcerting. 

As usual, Alistair covered his discomfort by joking. “And you said we stopped the Blight, just the two of us? You must be even better than I thought, because I’m sure _I’m_ not up to that.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said with a smile. “You’re better than you think. But it wasn’t just the two of us. We had allies, just no other Grey Wardens.” 

The way she looked at him so openly and intensely continued to make him uncomfortable. He tried to sort through all of the strangeness for something concrete. “So these memories, that’s why you’re always looking for me?” 

The tent wasn’t brightly lit, but Alistair was fairly sure he saw her blush as she tilted her head, eyes shying away from his. “I wasn’t sure you’d noticed.” 

“Oh, I didn’t,” he admitted blithely. “It was actually just pointed out to me. By a group of shamelessly nosy gossips. Fishwives have nothing on Grey Wardens.” 

Alexia shook her head with a faint chuckle. “I’m used to a much smaller camp than this. Far fewer people to notice or pry.” 

“Just us?” 

“No, there were a few others, but nothing like this. We weren’t nearly so organized or unified. Just a group of whoever would volunteer to help save the world against impossible odds.” 

Alistair shook his head slowly and laughed as the absurdity of her story sunk in past the pleasant buzz of the cider. “This sounds like a game I would have made up playing with stick and straw soldiers in a stable.” 

“Last week, then?” 

Alistair smirked at her ready response. “Two weeks, maybe. All we’ve had for the past week was mud. Not nearly enough sticks for saving the world properly.” 

“I lose track of time.” Alexia shrugged a facetious apology. “All of these extra memories in my head.” She paused, scrutinizing him intently. “Which you don’t believe.” 

“You have to admit it sounds rather implausible.” He spread his hands defensively, wondering why he felt the need to apologize to the crazy lady for not accepting her delusions at face value. 

“I convinced Duncan.” 

Her tone was distant, cold. There was something in her posture that seemed almost hurt as she turned her attention back to her drink, shifting to close herself off from him. Alistair fell silent, not sure what he could say at this point that wouldn’t make things worse. 

The quiet stretched on for several minutes as Alexia finished most of the mug before speaking again, her head turned to look at him obliquely, the mug held partway in front of her face almost as a shield. “This is nice, in a strange way. Very strange. I can’t regret changing things, but I do miss us.” 

“Us? As in this smaller camp?” 

A tiny half-smile curled her lips as she lowered the mug slightly, gazing at him more directly. “As in _us_.” 

“Oh…” That terribly eloquent response was all he could manage at first. He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or concerned that her delusion had included an “us”, whatever that meant. She was looking at him intently in the wake of that unexpected admission, but he had no idea what sort of response she was looking for or what he could even say. As usual when his brain stalled on something it didn’t know how to deal with, his mouth took over awkwardly. “So, um, we were… what exactly?” 

Alexia smiled wistfully, the mug held loosely in her lap as she sat up straighter and faced him openly. “You were my first everything,” she said simply. “First love, first lover, first time I thought I might want something beyond marrying for the good of my family.” 

Alistair laughed nervously, caught off guard by her utter sincerity. “I can’t really see a teyrn approving of a scruffy Warden courting his daughter.” 

“My parents were dead,” she reminded him. “But regardless, they couldn’t have objected. You were going to be king.” 

Every time he thought this night couldn’t get more confusing, she said something like that. Between the cider and this series of outrageous claims, he was starting to wonder if Alexia was deliberately trying to knock him off balance. “Me, king? How in the Maker’s name did _that_ happen?” 

“Cailan died at Ostagar, along with the Wardens. The Landsmeet eventually legitimized you as Maric’s only living son.” 

Alistair stared at her in open-mouthed amazement. Her delusions had moved well out of the realm of amusing into seriously disturbing. “How do you know that? No one here other than Duncan knows. Why would he tell you?” 

“He didn’t. You did.” She smiled sadly. “Before we went to Redcliffe the first time. You knew it would come out and thought I should hear it from you.” 

That actually sounded entirely plausible, except for the part where _it had never happened._ The utter absurdity of her story warred with her uncanny knowledge and complete sincerity. It was too much for him to deal with. “I, um, this is...” 

Alexia shook her head. “I shouldn’t have sprung all of it on you like this. I’m sorry.” The complex mix of emotions in her face was overwhelming, and her voice was starting to break, losing its usual calm polish. 

All of this was too much to handle. It was clear she expected something from him, and he didn’t even know what it was, much less whether he was willing – or able – to give it to her. “I need to think,” he said, scrambling to his feet in a hasty retreat. 

“Of course.” Her face was turned downwards, hair partially obscuring her expression, but the roughness of her voice was enough to fill in the details. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. 

Alistair fled the tent, head spinning from a combination of the cider and her story. As the tent flap fell closed behind him, he heard a strangled sob and felt irrationally guilty. 

The only thing he was sure of in all of this was that Alexia had definitely had one good idea tonight. There was no way he could handle this situation sober. He was going in search of another drink in the hopes that some of this would start to make sense.


	4. Chapter 4

_When you need a drink, find a dwarf._

Alistair wasn’t sure where he’d first heard that saying – or if he’d invented it sometime in the past twenty minutes of drinking – but regardless, it was working, so he wasn’t going to question it. 

In this case, the dwarf was a grizzled veteran from the Legion of the Dead who had been fortunate enough to come across Grey Wardens before he succumbed completely to the taint. The Joining had largely fixed that problem, and he’d readily made the switch to killing darkspawn on the surface instead of in the Deep Roads. No one knew his actual name – after joining two military orders where the first requirement for entry was dying, he insisted that whoever he’d been before was long gone – but everyone called him Mace after his preferred weapon, a heavy warhammer capable of cracking a genlock’s skull in one swing. 

As far as Alistair was concerned, the dwarf’s most valuable feature at the moment was his complete lack of interest in camp gossip. And, of course, his stash of ale didn’t hurt. When Alistair had wandered up to Mace holding a mug, the dwarf had taken one look at him and filled it without saying a word. A while later when it was empty again, he refilled it with a similar lack of comment. 

As the bottom of that second mug started to come into view and the world was getting pleasantly fuzzy, Alistair decided he owed the nice dwarf an explanation for why he was sitting on the grass outside the dwarf’s tent drinking his ale. “I found out why Alexia keeps following me around, since everyone seems to have been so curious.” 

“Nope, can’t say that they were.” Mace continued drinking from his own tankard, calm and incurious as ever. 

That wasn’t how this was supposed to go at all. Didn’t the dwarf recognize a conversation opener when it was handed to him? Frowning, Alistair defended himself. “Yes they were. There was a whole group of people teasing me about her earlier.” 

“Sure, everybody’s noticed her trailing around after you. The new girl’s really not as subtle as she probably thinks. But nobody’s been asking why.” Mace grinned, a gravelly chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Except maybe a few jealous bastards wondering why you.” 

Alistair decided not to ask who they were because it didn’t matter; Alexia wasn’t having delusional fantasies about any of _them_. 

“Well, regardless, I figured out why. By the very clever expedient of asking her.” Alistair took another drink of his ale. “Or maybe not asking but more being there when she felt like talking about it.” He waved away the distinction, glad to discover the mug he was holding wasn’t full enough for its contents to slosh out when he did so. 

Mace took a long pull from his tankard while Alistair stared at him expectantly. Lowering it, the dwarf sighed. “And now I’m here when you feel like talking, is that it?” 

Alistair figured that was as much of an opening as he was going to get, so he forged ahead. “See, Alexia has this whole delusion dream thing that she’s already done all of this. Except not exactly like this. But kind of.” He waved his mug again, the conversation punctuated by a soft sloshing sound. “She thinks she’s already fought all the darkspawn and ended the Blight and was going to marry me.” He raised the mug to his mouth for a drink, then lowered it again, wondering when it had gotten empty. “So it turns out the beautiful, brave, strong, amazing woman is also sadly crazy.” 

“Of course she is.” 

Alistair frowned at the dwarf. “Why did you already know that?” 

Mace chuckled. “I worked it out as soon as the Warden-Commander introduced her. Nobody sane _volunteers_ to become a Grey Warden. We’re an order of last resort, something you only do because the other choices are even worse.” 

Oh, well, that made a certain sort of sense. But it wasn’t really very helpful. “So since she’s already crazy in general, this particular crazy shouldn’t matter?” 

“That’s up to you.” The dwarf shrugged, taking another pull from his tankard. “But keep in mind that nobody sane falls in love with a Grey Warden either. So maybe the real question is whether all those other traits you listed tip the scale enough to make up for ‘this particular crazy’.” 

Alistair stared at him, trying to work through all of what he’d just said because he was fairly certain some of it had been important. “Sorry, could you run that by me again?” 

Mace sighed, leaning over to clap a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “Ignore the rest of it and focus on an easier question: do you like her?” 

Alistair felt his cheeks flush with more than just the alcohol as his mouth started stammering out a response. Curious, he tried to figure out what it was saying because he’d kind of like to know the answer to that question, too. 

Mace shook his head with another rumbling chuckle. “Don’t tell me; I don’t care. Tell her.”


	5. Chapter 5

After Alistair left her tent, Alexia decided against finishing the rest of the cider. She’d already reached the point of intoxication that involved making bad decisions – like telling him about her memories and their non-existent relationship – so she figured it was time to stop drinking before she hit the stage of dissolving into tears over the aforementioned stupid decisions. 

Instead, she curled up on her cot to sleep, or at least to wallow in her misery for a while. What had she been thinking, spilling out such an implausible story? Alexia had known from the day she set foot in the Warden camp that it would be a mistake to tell Alistair about their past – or future, or might-have-been-but-wasn’t, or whatever she ought to call it – and she’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t say anything to him. 

But she was so desperately lonely that, when he’d come seeking her out, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from trying to connect with him. Of course she had scared him off. Anyone with the least bit of sense would want to get away from a virtual stranger who knew all of their secrets and presumed an intimacy that had no reason to exist. 

She couldn’t blame him for running, but the rejection still hurt. 

Wrapped up in a wool blanket and self-pity, Alexia lay on her cot, watching the guttering lamplight flicker on the slanted canvas wall of her tent. She ought to snuff the light and stop wasting oil, but getting up was more than she could be bothered to do at the moment. Besides, the wavering shadows gave her something to focus on while she berated herself for being such a weak-willed idiot. 

A while later, she heard the rustling of canvas but didn’t pay any particular attention to it. It wasn’t until the second time she heard Alistair whisper her name that she realized he was actually there, awkwardly trying to get her attention through the tent flap. 

Surprised by his presence, she sat up, running her fingers through her hair to smooth it. “I’m awake. You can come in.” 

Alistair ducked his head to enter the tent, and she took a moment to stare at him unobserved. He’d lost his armor sometime while he was gone, and she could see the tension gathered in his shoulders. He looked understandably skittish, like he wasn’t sure that he should be here, and Alexia could hardly blame him for that. 

“I’m surprised you came back.” Alexia kept her tone casual, drawing her knees up towards her chest and freeing the other half of the cot in tacit invitation. She tried to conceal her relief when he sat, committing to stay a while, maybe long enough for her to figure out how to fix the mess she’d made of everything. 

Alistair was staring at her, with that look he got when he was searching for words, and she didn’t think she could stand to hear whatever he was going to say at this point, so she pre-empted him with an apology. It seemed like a good place to start. 

“It wasn’t fair of me to dump all of that on you earlier, but thanks for listening.” Alexia managed to summon a smile, even if it felt a little weak. “It’s nice to be able to cry on a friend’s shoulder when you’re having a rough time.” 

“I’m good at that. I have specially absorbent shoulders, you know.” Alistair’s nervous, lopsided grin was somehow reassuring. “You’re welcome to borrow one whenever you need to.” 

Alexia was so tempted to take that offer literally, to burrow against him and soak in the warmth and comfort of the contact she’d been so desperately missing. But she held back, wrapping her arms more tightly around the knees drawn to her chest. Because she knew that she shouldn’t. She wanted to touch him so much that it hurt sometimes, and half measures wouldn’t be enough. If she let herself rest her head on his shoulder, there was no way she’d be able to resist burying her face against his neck, kissing his pulse, tasting his skin. And she’d already given in to enough stupid impulses tonight. 

Alistair sounded hesitant when he spoke, a tentative question. “Is that all you want me to be?” 

Alexia tore her gaze away from his neck and tried to remember what they’d been talking about before she got distracted. “What, a shoulder?” 

He laughed, startled and unguarded, and the sound of it made her chest clench, although not as much as what he said next. “No, a friend.” 

“Oh, Maker, no.” Alexia sighed, giving in to one tiny temptation and shifting position so she could reach out towards him. She cupped a hand against his cheek, feeling the unfamiliar rasp of thick stubble under her palm, and stared intently into his eyes. “Alistair, I want you to be everything.” She swallowed, reining in her emotion and drawing back her hand. “But it isn’t fair to expect you to act on a relationship that only exists in my head. So I’ll settle for friendship to keep you in my life.” 

His eyes flicked away from hers as he gave a shaky laugh, bringing his hand up to rub unconsciously at his face where she’d touched him. “The guy you knew must have been pretty impressive. I suspect I’m something of a disappointment in comparison.” 

Alexia shook her head slowly. “You’re not so different.” She clenched her hands into fists to resist the urge to touch him, to kiss away that all too familiar self-doubt. Words would have to be enough. “I love your laugh, all of those frivolous jokes, the way you make me smile on some of the worst days of my life. You have an unwavering sense of honor, and you commit yourself to a cause with determination and passion. It’s inspiring; _you’re_ inspiring.” 

She paused, taking in his dazed expression and wondering if she’d gone too far. With a tiny, almost apologetic smile, she reined in the intensity, trying not to scare him off again. “I haven’t noticed much difference.” She remembered the rough feel of his cheek under her palm, and her lips curled into a teasing smirk. “You shaved more often, though. Mostly because I was more likely to kiss you if you weren’t as scratchy.” 

Alistair blinked, startled and fumbling for a response. “I, uh, suppose I could see the incentive there.” 

Alexia chuckled at how disconcerted he sounded and tried not to read too much into the flicker of interest she thought she saw in his eyes. It was probably wishful thinking, so she ignored it. “Overall, I don’t think circumstances really change a person that much. They just reveal what’s always been there.” 

The tent was silent for a while after that, as Alexia bit the inside of her lip to stop any further words from spilling out. She’d already said far more than she should have tonight, courtesy of cider and loneliness, and she didn’t need to keep making things worse. It was a wonder he’d come back at all after everything she’d told him earlier, and she couldn’t stand the thought of screwing up and sending him running again. At least he was here now, even if it didn’t mean the things she wanted it to. At least she wasn’t alone. 

“Do you think you could make an exception?” Alistair’s question made no sense, but from the catch in his voice, it was clearly significant. 

Alexia was fairly certain the answer was yes, whatever it was he was asking – she couldn’t think of the last time she’d refused him anything – but she should probably know what she was agreeing to before answering blindly. 

Her confusion must have been evident, and Alistair licked his lips nervously before elaborating. “I was wondering if maybe you might, just this once, let me kiss you even though I’m all scratchy.” 

Alexia’s world froze. She couldn’t believe she’d heard him right, but the way he was looking at her – nervous anticipation and want mixed with the tiniest bit of fear – was so utterly familiar. She thought her heart had stopped for a second, and now it was pounding so loudly she could barely think past it. Not that there was anything to think about. 

It took her three tries to find her voice, and what came out was still barely more than a whisper. “Gladly.” 

The brief look of surprise that crossed his face nearly broke her heart. 

Alexia held herself still and let him lean in slowly, hoping that he couldn’t tell how badly she was trembling. The gentle hand he placed on the back of her neck was so familiar that her eyes drifted closed as the memories overwhelmed her, drowning in every time he’d touched her like this, every tender kiss. 

The first brush of Alistair’s lips against hers was exactly what she expected, hesitant and sweet. Achingly familiar and maddeningly not enough. She was trying so hard not to push too fast, but Maker, she needed this. Needed him. 

Unable to resist, she drew him closer against her, deepening the kiss. He tensed for a moment but then yielded to her, lips parting readily. His mouth tasted slightly bitter with hints of ale, proof that he’d fortified his courage before coming back to face her again. 

Alexia didn’t care. Despite the unpleasant bitterness and scratch of stubble, the moment was perfect. Alistair was here with her, kissing her, his touch and scent surrounding her. She’d thought she lost him twice – once after forcing him into Morrigan’s bed and again after coming back to a life both foreign and familiar – and she could only be grateful for the miracle of having him in her arms. 

When he finally pulled away – too soon, but she wasn’t sure anything could have been enough – Alistair looked slightly dazed. Alexia’s breath caught with worry, but then she relaxed as he offered her a tiny, bashful grin. “I think I could definitely see the incentive.” 

Alexia smiled back, relieved that she hadn’t scared him off again by making more of this than he was ready to give. Her fingers toyed with the short hair at the nape of his neck, idly brushing over his skin. Now that she’d started, she couldn’t seem to stop touching him. All she seemed to be capable of doing was staring at him, at a complete loss for words. Everything she wanted to say – how much she had missed him, needed him, loved him – would be utterly inappropriate from his perspective and wholly insufficient from hers. 

The silence stretched out, becoming uncomfortable, and Alistair straightened up, moving away from her. Alexia let her hand drop to the cot as he pulled away, resisting the urge to follow after him. He looked down, breaking eye contact and rubbing at the back of his neck. “All of this is a lot to think about.” He lifted his eyes back to her with an awkward half smile. “It’ll probably take me a while to get through it all. It’s late and we’re both tired – and not entirely sober. I should go.” 

“You don’t have to.” The words came out before Alexia could stop them, and she froze, hating how needy she sounded and worrying about how he would take that. 

Alistair laughed nervously, pretending she’d been joking. “If I’d had another drink, I might be willing to take you up on that.” He stood, moving with the carefully controlled motions that meant he was feeling a bit unsteady on his feet. 

She glanced up at him through her lashes with a mischievous grin, deliberately suggestive in a way she never would have dared before meeting him. “There’s more cider.” 

He chuckled uncomfortably, giving her one last smile before turning towards the tent flap. “Good night, Alexia.”


	6. Chapter 6

Alexia woke up the next morning with a dry mouth, a throbbing head, and an overwhelming sense of idiocy. It took a minute for her to remember how far her stupidity had extended beyond drinking most of a skin of cider, and she buried her head in her blankets with a moan as the details of the night trickled back to her. 

What had she been thinking telling him everything? She had all but begged for his affection, like a scolded mabari currying favor. Alistair must have thought she was needy and desperate and completely crazy. She couldn’t believe he’d come back to give her a second chance, and rather than being grateful, she’d only made it worse. 

Maker, had she really thrown herself at him, even knowing how shy and nervous he was, how slowly they had taken things her first time around? She’d probably looked utterly rash and wanton, asking him to bed after one kiss. It was no wonder he’d run. 

The best thing she could do at this point was to stop seeking him out. Continuing to follow him around after all of that would come across as even more desperate and predatory. And Maker knew she’d done enough to make him uncomfortable already. Alistair knew how she felt now; in fact, he knew far more than he should or probably wanted to. If he chose to have anything further to do with her, she should let it be on his terms. 

\----------------------------------

Alexia didn’t see Alistair at all during the week following the night she’d made a complete fool of herself. She wasn’t exactly actively avoiding him, just no longer deliberately making an effort to be around him. Other than the trip from Highever to Ostagar with Duncan after volunteering to become a Warden again, this was the longest she’d gone without talking to him since they’d met over a year ago, and she was surprised by how alone that made her feel, despite being in the midst of a camp full of fellow Grey Wardens. But he hadn’t come looking for her in the past week either, which showed she’d been right to give him space. 

She refused to wallow, so she’d been keeping herself too busy to be depressed. Or at least that had been the theory; she wasn’t sure how well it was working in practice. But the extra chores and shifts were reducing the number of favors she owed around the camp, so at least she wasn’t entirely wasting her time. 

Currently, she was finishing up someone’s kitchen duty, which in her case meant running errands. The cook had rapidly discovered that being raised in a household with servants didn’t impart much in the way of culinary skills, so Alexia often found herself delivering messages to the quartermaster rather than being directly involved in the food preparation. Not that she minded. Alexia preferred walking around the camp to peeling root vegetables or standing over boiling pots, and the meals seemed to benefit from her absence. So everyone came out ahead. 

The camp had relocated and rearranged since Alexia’s last stint on kitchen duty, and the route she ended up taking from the mess tent to the quartermaster’s probably wasn’t the most direct. But she found her destination eventually without too much difficulty, zeroing in on the quartermaster’s booming voice when she got close. 

As she rounded the corner of the last tent before the quartermaster’s, Alexia heard a familiar voice responding to the quartermaster’s deep baritone and froze, just out of sight. Her errand wasn’t that urgent; she could wait until Alistair left. 

Okay, so maybe she _was_ actively avoiding him. 

Judging by the quartermaster’s rumbling laughter, the conversation seemed casual rather than professional. Curious, Alexia hovered behind the edge of the tent, just out of sight, listening in. Second-hand contact was better than none. 

“And what’s with the new look?” The quartermaster sounded amused. 

“You don’t like it? I’m starting a new trend: Blood-spattered armor as the height of Grey Warden fashion during a Blight. It gives that lived-in, ‘I’ve been far too busy killing darkspawn to worry about petty things like hygeine’ look. By next month, I expect everyone will be copying it.” 

“Heh. Someone voluntarily trying to look like you? That’ll be the day.” Another rumbling chuckle took the sting from his words. “I meant the lack of scruff. Please tell me Duncan’s not planning on handing down new regs about shaving on account of all the royal visits. Not after I finally got this beard the way I like it.” 

“Maker’s breath, you did that on purpose? I thought something small and furry had attached itself to your face. Maybe a hedgehog. Or a badger cub.” 

Alexia didn’t need to look to picture the smirk that accompanied Alistair’s jibe, or to envision the way the expression faded with the sigh that followed. 

“But no, there aren’t any new regs that I’m aware of.” He sounded dejected. “The recent shaving habit grew out of a bout of optimism, which was apparently misplaced.” 

If there was any further conversation, Alexia failed to hear it over the sudden leaping pulse echoing in her ears. Maybe things weren’t quite as hopeless as she’d thought. 

Alexia handled her business with the quartermaster as quickly as possible, deftly evading his usual attempts to extend the conversation. Normally, she found the man’s brash humor and store of gossip to be well worth the time spent chatting with him, but at the moment she had other priorities. 

It didn’t take her long to catch up to Alistair, following the direction he’d taken when leaving the quartermaster’s post and extrapolating a likely route through the camp. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw her, and he seemed to be having trouble coming up with an appropriate greeting. 

Alexia had steeled herself for this during the walk across the camp and decided to jump in with no preamble lest she lose her nerve. “Have you been shaving because of me?” 

He blinked, startled, followed by an abashed smile. “You said it might increase the likelihood… Not that you have to... I mean, I’d like for you to, but that doesn’t mean…” 

Alexia cut him off by finally doing what she had been longing to do every day since she saw him again at Ostagar this second time around. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him senseless. 

After he got past the initial shock, Alistair didn’t seem to mind. His arms wrapped around her almost reflexively, an attempt to keep his balance that then turned into an embrace. He yielded readily to the insistent pressure of her lips and tongue. When he finally grew bold enough to return the gesture, Alexia whimpered, and his arms tightened, drawing her closer in a way that felt reassuring, almost protective. 

Maker, she had needed this. No matter how she counted the time, it had been far, far too long, and now that she had Alistair in her arms kissing her with intense abandon, Alexia had no intention of letting him go any time soon. 

By the time she finally, reluctantly, released his mouth, they were both breathless. Not ready to give up this closeness, Alexia nuzzled against his cheek, eyes closed as she savored the familiar scent and feel of his skin. “Oh, I’ve missed you.” 

After a few moments, as her breathing returned to normal, she realized that Alistair still hadn’t said anything. She pulled back far enough to look at him with an awkward half smile. “Sorry. Was that okay?” 

“Okay?” Alistair looked kind of dazed, but he laughed shakily. “I’ve just resolved to never skip shaving again.” 

Beaming with relief, Alexia was leaning in to kiss him again when she realized they’d gathered an audience. 

Feeling a blush suffusing her cheeks, she looked over at the loose circle of Wardens that had formed around them, offering encouragement and providing commentary. Alexia thought she even saw a few coins changing hands. Glancing back at Alistair, she wasn’t surprised to see him looking equally embarrassed. “Maybe we should continue this later.” 

“Yes, definitely.” He grinned sheepishly. “Somewhere more private.”


End file.
